


Olympic Tryouts (part 16)

by jennamacaroni



Series: Olympic Tryouts [16]
Category: Glee
Genre: Alternate Universe - Hockey, F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-28
Updated: 2014-08-28
Packaged: 2018-02-15 05:04:44
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,749
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2216796
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jennamacaroni/pseuds/jennamacaroni
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Santana and Brittany have been rivals in the college hockey world for the past four years.  now they’re both at Olympic tryouts to play on the same team and Boston and Minnesota just don’t get along, okay?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Olympic Tryouts (part 16)

**Author's Note:**

> greetings from costa rica! as it happens, the general lack of internet access in the evenings leaves ample time for writing, so here’s part 16!
> 
> this chapter is dedicated to my dear mama u (nayas-sports-bra on tumblr) because reasons. oh so many reasons i don’t have the words for. she's a god damn superhero.

Santana bounces her knee nervously as she fastens her seatbelt and loudly exhales the breath she was holding since she sat down. Her stomach is knotted tightly as she swipes her sweaty palms down her pants, wishing she could teleport to the scrimmage instead of flying. Quinn reaches from the adjacent seat to squeeze her hand affectionately, hazel eyes soft and sympathetic.

"Just crank up your music and close your eyes, it’ll be fine," she soothes. "It’s just a few hours, we’ll be there before you know it." Santana envies Quinn’s relaxed disposition and curses her own mother for passing down fear of flying to her offspring. Santana has vivid memories of vacationing as a kid and nearly having her hand broken as her mother squeezed it painfully during takeoff and landing. "And breathe, don’t forget to breathe."

"Psst." 

Santana jerks up in surprise at the sound just over her left shoulder, turning to find Brittany occupying the seat directly behind her on the airplane, leaning close to whisper right into Santana’s ear. There are creases in between Brittany’s eyebrows and her lip is protruding slightly outward into a pout. ”You okay, San?”

"She’s afraid of flying," Quinn explains, patting Santana’s knee that is still shaking restlessly.

"Really?" Santana can tell by her surprised and amused tone of voice that Brittany is trying hard not to tease her. "I figure everyone flies so much these days that no one’s really scared anymore. You know the odds of dying from a plane crash are like, one in 10 million or something insane like that, right? You’re more likely to get struck by a piece of space junk while walking to the honkey tonk."

At that Santana lets out a barely audible snort. “Honkey tonk? Really?”

"What? Two-stepping is my jam,” Brittany deadpans. “Seriously though, San, these planes want to be in the air, you really shouldn’t worry."

"Yeah, I can’t really help it," Santana mumbles, turning back around and leaning back into the headrest, pressing her eyes shut tight. Brittany reaches around the seat to massage her thumbs into the tense muscles where Santana’s neck meets her shoulders and the calming relief is instantaneous. Brittany starts humming quietly into her ear and Santana’s leg stops bouncing, her fists unclench and her breath steadies. _Magic_ , she thinks.

After a few seconds, she recognizes the melody. ”Toy Story?” Santana guesses, the corner of her lips twitching towards a smirk.

At that, Brittany’s humming turns to quiet singing. " _When the road gets tough ahead and you’re miles and miles from your nice warm bed_ ,” she croons, twanging each word perfectly. ” _You just remember what your old pal said_ , come on San,” she prods, dancing her fingertips from Santana’s shoulders up the side of her neck.

“ _You’ve got a friend in me, yeah, you got a friend in me,_ ” they sing together softly. Santana loves the way their voices sound together, thick and creamy like melted cheese.

_____

The pilot’s voice crackles over the intercom, telling the flight attendants to find their seats for takeoff. Whatever peace Santana had found dissipates like mist, fear taking over to grip her like talons. Brittany seems to sense her increased stress, because she moves her hands from Santana’s shoulders and opens and closes her fists, fishing for something.

"Give me your hands," she whispers as the plane taxis out to the runway. Santana reaches for them like a reflex. Instead of thinking about the imminent flying through the air in a massive steel bus with wings and the remote chance of plunging to a fiery death, she occupies herself by thinking about Brittany’s hands. How they are a paradox of hard and soft all at the same time; strong and wiry, callused from her hockey gloves along her upper palm, and how the backs are remarkably smooth. She thinks about how at the moment, Brittany’s hands are just about the polar opposite from her own damp and clammy ones.

Brittany is humming again.

Quinn turns to raise an eyebrow at Santana who is visibly green but manages to mouth a “shut it, Fabray.” Quinn just laughs, giving her best _you’re so screwed, Lopez_ , side-eye and flashing a money sign by rubbing her thumb and forefinger together, reminding Santana of the bet with Rachel.

Santana finally let’s go of Brittany once the plane rights itself high above the clouds. As she closes her eyes to nap, that Toy Story song runs over and over in her mind and she tries to distinguish whether her butterflies are from flying or whether it’s just Brittany.

_____

Santana manages to sleep the majority of the five hour flight, waking with a start as the wheels touch down on the tarmac in Grand Rapids, the brakes of the plane engaging and throwing her forward in her seat.

“You’re not going to get out and kiss the ground this time, are you?” Quinn jokes, poking her in the ribs. “Or maybe kiss _someone_?”

“Shut it, Fabray.”

As if she has a sixth “Santana” sense, Brittany reaches to scratch lightly at Santana’s scalp over the top of the seat. “How are ya, Butthead?” she asks, playfully.

“Fine, thank you,” Santana grumbles as they park at the gate, reaching for her bag underneath the seat and standing up so quickly she cracks her head on the ceiling.

“Smooth,” Quinn laughs as Santana’s face reddens. Brittany’s laughter sounds like wind chimes from the next row.

_____

Coach Roz reads out room assignments on the bus ride to the hotel and they end up assigned generally by their position and lines.

“Cohen-Chang, Fabray, Johnson and Rose, room 314,” she calls over dim chatter and rumbling of the bus engine. The defenders all smile across the bus at each other, Quinn and Tina fist bumping over the aisle. Coach Roz calls off nearly the entire team before finishing with “Berry, Lopez and Pierce. 320.”

Brittany rolls her eyes playfully from the back row of the bus, making a show of groaning over her roommates and exclaiming, “Berry, as I’m sure you’ve got some venereal disease that’s highly contagious, I say we quarantine you to your own bed. Whatdya think, Lopez?” she asks, tipping her chin towards Santana whose nose is scrunched up in mock disgust.

Rachel opens her mouth to protest but Santana interrupts quickly. “Probably for the best,” she agrees, before gulping and turning towards the window to hide a blush. The idea of sharing a bed with Brittany makes her limbs tingle in the very best way.

 _Get a hold of yourself, Lopez_.

_____

“How many times are you going to do that?” Brittany asks, splayed across their bed and during a commercial break of the Jetsons. Santana looks up from applying the tape along the blade of her third backup stick and shrugs.

“Until it’s perfect,” she remarks, as if it was obvious. Santana’s hands have started to tremor as it gets closer to lights out and she’s had to redo this stick three times already.

“You’re a freak, you know that?” Brittany’s eyes sparkle like sun reflecting off crystal clear water.

Santana doesn’t answer, her face flushing for what seems like the fiftieth time that day as she shifts back down to her task. With fumbling fingers and under the weight of Brittany’s stare, she somehow manages to finish, inspecting the job close up before leaning the sticks in the far corner of the room and detouring into the bathroom.

She elbows Rachel, who has now been in the bathroom for over an hour doing her nighttime facial routine, out from in front of the sink to splash cold water onto her face and neck.

“Are you okay, Santana?” Rachel asks curiously, dabbing some nasty looking green paste under her eyes.

“Yeah, whatever,” Santana huffs, clearly flustered. “You look like a gremlin. And get out of the bathroom, already. It’s no wonder we don’t have a fourth roommate considering you’re impossible to cohabitate with.”

She stalks from the room before Rachel has the chance to get another word in edgewise, flopping onto her side of the bed and stuffing her head under the pillow. She doesn’t think she has been this nervous since pregame of last year’s National Championship.

_____

As they all settle into bed and Brittany flicks off the bedside lamp, Santana is practically aflame, her stomach tumbling somersaults and her mind turning cartwheels.

“Just a warning,” Rachel calls from the adjacent bed, “I inherited my father’s deviated septum so I beg your pardon for the snoring. Kitty complains about it incessantly back in the dorms, but there’s really no remedy. I myself listen to the soundtrack to _Funny Girl_ on loop every night so I don’t wake myself up.”

“God,” Brittany grumbles, turning to lie along her side with her back to Rachel. Santana can feel warm breath tickle her exposed arm, goosebumps erupting and her arm hair standing on attention.

“Goodnight, wolf pack,” Rachel whispers, reaching for her iPod.

“I can work with that,” chuckles Brittany.

“I guess I can too.”

“Excellent,” Rachel beams, proud of herself. “I’ll keep pondering the hand shake. I was thinking also..”

“Goodnight, Rachel,” Brittany and Santana interrupt simultaneously and Rachel is quiet.

Santana shuffles restlessly among the covers, eventually throwing one leg over the bedsheets when it gets too hot and going back and forth on whether it’s more comfortable with her arms tucked over her head or her hands folded over her stomach.

“Fidget much?” Brittany asks, giggling lightly alongside her.

“Sorry. Just trying to get…” Brittany’s finger starts tracing patterns into Santana’s forearm. “…comfortable.”

“Hey.” Brittany’s voice is such a soft whisper that Santana nearly misses the word completely. She pivots her head to the side to find Brittany studying her carefully by the soft moonlight peeking through the gap between the blinds.

“Hey.” Santana’s whisper back is just as quiet, her heartbeat speeding up.

Brittany doesn’t say anything else, just stares openly, her eyes shifting back and forth between Santana’s. Her heart beats harder and harder, so much so that Santana wonders if Brittany can feel the bed beating in rhythm beneath them.

When Brittany reaches a hand to glance her fingers along the bruises still bloomed under Santana’s eyes, Santana stops breathing completely. Eventually Brittany’s whole palm rests along the curve of Santana’s jaw, a thumb stroking slowly along her cheekbone and causing Santana’s whole body to tremble. Brittany exhales once more before leaning in and pressing their lips together.


End file.
